


Two spoons of meth and misery

by Ccrescendo



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater, The Raven Boys
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-05 09:13:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5369810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ccrescendo/pseuds/Ccrescendo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, love doesn't have to be terrible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

**Song for the chapter** : _If I be wrong_ by Wolf Larsen 

**ADAM ★**

Adam splayed his fingers over the textured exterior of the door. The wood was chipping in a way that couldn't be ignored, and the century old paint was streaked with jagged indentations, and scorch marks. He let his fingertips glide over the series of dents and bumps; nostalgia mapping his route. Wanting curled around the bridge of his fingers, and stitched a path across his knuckles. Gansey, with his careful smiles and polite facade would have called this yearning, but Adam knew better. Yearning was for those who held belief in their hearts. Adam's heart was nothing more than a distorted, mangled organ that oozed misery, and despair with each passing year. His father had plucked _yearning_ from between the crevices of his ribcage, before he'd learned how to speak. The male bottled an abundant supply of air within the cradle of his lungs, as he flexed his fingers against the warehouse door. The ghostly impression of his breath against the pane of glass demanded that he accept his condition. He wasn't yearning; he was obsessed.

Pushing the door open at last, Adam drifted into Monmouth Manufacturing, and nudged the door shut behind him. The strong odor of distilled dust, and decay instantly filled the air. Coughing softly, Adam pressed his face into his sleeve, as he quickly took the stairs to the second landing. They'd planned on clearing out the first floor last summer, but the sight of Ronan wielding a mop had sent Noah into hysterics, and as a result their clean-up committee had been shortlived. Adam stumbled through the entryway; wheezing in an attempt to clear his clogged lungs. He lingered briefly in the entryway, before the slim shouldered figure picked his way across the battlefield that stretched across the expanse of the warehouse floor. Gansey's cardboard buildings, and the replica of Henrietta dominated the floor; miniature cars, and powerlines laying claim to the area by his feet. Books littered the floor in orderly disarray; leatherbound volumes with crinkled yellow paper, slim paperbacks, and ancient albums clothed in canvas covers, spilling over Gansey's bedsheets.                                                                                                            

And amid the structured chaos lay Ronan Lynch. Master of sins, wicked bearer of dreams, conqueror of Lilith's children. Adam cautiously approached the broader male's still form, and crouched beside him. For one terrible moment, he half expected to find blood staining Ronan's torso; crimson war paint coloring his pale complexion a ruddy red. Instead, he was met with the sight of Ronan in deep slumber; his features softened with the vulnerability of sleep, mouth curved into the faintest, most delicate of smiles; a precious, caged bird. Adam's fingers itched with the need to touch, to claim, to map territories, and landmarks over the canvas of Ronan's skin. The exposed line of Ronan's collarbone where the troubled male's t-shirt had been rucked down, made something heated throb in the pallet of Adam's mouth. His fingers involuntarily curled into his palm, hard enough that a dull ache began to develop along the gentle slopes of his hand.

" _Professional stalker_ ," Blue had called him the other day.

" _What do you want, Adam_?" Gansey had questioned earnestly.

" _The finger goes into the hole_ ," Noah had said gleefully, while dry humping the air.

It was there, in the musty cavernous room of 1136 Monmouth Manufacturing, that Adam allowed himself to say the words. "I want-" He slid his thumb over the elegant line of Ronan's neck, and pushed it into his pulse.

_Tomorrow did not exist._

\---

**RONAN [DREAMSCAPE] ☠**

The smell of fresh soil encroached upon his sense of smell; bearing the muggy aroma of earth, the damp environment a product of last night's rainfall. Something rustled in the bushes by his left, a series of scuffling sounds within the dense undergrowth and low-hanging tree branches. The haunting, shrill cry of an owl pierced through the obsidian night sky as the creature in question screeched its presence to the world from its perch somewhere out of his field of vision. Ronan maintained his steady pace, the timing of his steps both measured and deliberate. His gaze shuttered as it sidled along the barren, desolate wasteland spread out across the horizon. Everything about his surroundings felt unclean, that if he stayed here a moment longer he too would blend into the forest. His fingers felt weighted, as if his digits were curled around the barrel of a firearm, but a quick glance down confirmed that his hands were empty. Cursing softly under his breath, he swung his flashlight over the forest floor in an effort to avoid roots, and stray rocks. As he raised his flashlight the beam of light revealed a figure walking a few feet in front of him.

"Fucker!" he called out in terms of greeting. The figure halted, and swiveled slightly in place; exasperation flooding his features.

Ronan ached.

Break.Not.

Shift.Not.

The figure's unconventionally handsome features gave way to dusty brown hair, and bright blue eyes. _Adam_. Adam made an impatient sound in the base of his throat, and picked self-consciously at the fraying cuffs of his sweater. "Are you trying to get us caught out here?! We have a head start, but he's out there somewhere, waiting," he murmured; voice tipping upwards as the first hint of fear crept into his tone.

Ronan's flashlight went out, immediately plunging him into a darkness that was so absolute it threatened to swallow him whole, and use his bones to pick out the remains. "Sack of sheep shit," he muttered, while simultaneously striking the luminous object against the palm of his hand. An abrupt, penetrating scream shattered the false sense of security that cusped the hold of the valley. _Steady_.

Ronan went still. "What the fuck, Parrish. What are we running from?"

The shrill cry splintered through the bushes, sending a chill down his spine. Ronan's flashlight flickered back to life, and he directed the stretch of light upwards to illuminate the other Aglionby boy. Adam's features had contorted, having arranged themselves to display complete, and utter horror. There was a centuries' worth of fear stitched into the shape of his mouth when he spoke. "You."

The earth crawled up into the sky, and spread clammy, dusty hands over the moon. _You_. He saw red. The moon cracked a grin, and sent winding fingers down to thrust underneath the earth's core. The earth tore open, and he saw Beelzebub's face.

_You_.

Pain exploded along the side of his head, and he knew only darkness.

When he came to, he was sprawled out on the forest floor; fingers gouging into the tiny indented space between a set of roots. Hot breath fanned out across his exposed throat-his collar having been pulled down and to the side-and the sharp prick of a needle danced along the segment of skin, before it was inserted. The sensation of being stripped clean from his skin clutched at the curve of his throat. Numbness extended into his mind to ease the thundering dilemma taking place. A quiet chattering noise filled the air, followed by a sharp _Click, Click, Click_ , like the pincers of a beetle.

Death.

Ronan twisted his torso, and threw his arm out, but his fist failed to connect with anything solid. Confusion fueled his actions, as he struggled to his feet; brows knitting together into a well-rehearsed scowl. His vision blurred, and the world teetered briefly on its axis before righting itself perpendicular to the horizon. Adam was nowhere to be seen. "Goddamn it, Parrish," he bit out through gritted teeth, just as the earsplitting screech from earlier returned. The deafening high-pitched scream threatened to rip a hole in the time continuum.

Something heavy crashed through the dense shrubbery, and the trees voiced their dismay, "Curre, Greywaren. Run."                                                                                        

The stark, shaft of light from the flashlight draped itself over ferns, and mottled dirt as the male ran through the heavily condensed underbrush. His flashlight swung in random, sporadic movements as he dodged splintered logs, and roots protruding from the damp earth. Little spots of black had begun to cloud his vision, and the teen spared a moment to shake his head in an effort to chase away the ill effects. Blinking blearily, he tried to make sense of the rustling emitting from the bushes to his right, before something crashed into him with such momentum that he stumbled backwards into a tree. A sudden hand at his throat steadied him, but it was merely a false promise; an oppressor delivering more pain. As the creature buried the lethal tips of its claws underneath his pulse, Ronan scrabbled vainly at the rigid vice-like grip on his throat. The creature tightened its grip, and carved its passage deeper; compelling its claws to sink in further. Like a demon stealing a sacred kiss, the creature drew oxygen from the parted gate of Ronan's lips, until he had none left to spare. Fury held no place here, and yet Ronan was shaking with it, as he drew his gaze past the creature's angular jaw line, and the artful slope of his cheekbones. Familiarity sung a sweet song of vengeance. The creature wore Adam's face.  

Betrayal shot through him without warning; playing companion to the the agony stretching over the line of his neck, and the raging hurt splitting itself open along his jaw. Snarling, Ronan thrust his weapon wielding hand forward, and drove the serrated blade into the sinews of muscle in the creature's gut. There was vengeance stitched into the tendons of his hand, and houses that rage had constructed on the harsh bridge of his knuckles. This was a language he knew how to speak.

The creature released him, staggered back in pain, and vanished in a blur of movement. Ronan's vision blurred momentarily as long gasps for air stuttered past his lips; fingers churning up dirt as he ripped up clods of soil. Since when had he ended up on the forest floor? Pushing himself up to lean against the trunk of the tree, Ronan clamped a hand to his throat to try and minimize the bleeding.

He'd forgotten how much his lungs loved the taste of air.

"Ronan!"

Ronan forced his eyes open, and blearily tried to make sense of another Adam running towards him. This one had concern, and worry etched into his features; pulled taut like a second skin. His Adam. Adam dropped to the ground beside him, and yanked his hand away from his neck. "Let me see-oh God." Ronan let his eyes drift shut again, as weariness settled into his limbs, and drowsiness took hold. He was safe. As long as Adam was here watching over him, he would be safe. Hot breath tickled his neck, as a familiar chattering sound met his ears. _Click. Click. Click_.

Ronan's eyes flew open, and he stared up at the chilling smirk tainting Adam's lips, as fear coiled around his gut, and punctured his heart.

"I've been around since the universe first coughed up the Earth," Adam whispered softly, as if his quiet revelation was a secret that had to be hidden from the forest, and the trees.

Something tight seized hold of Ronan's vocal chords. "I've been around since God pulled the universe out of his ass," he snarled.

Adam lifted the dagger above his head; moonlight dancing across the pristine surface of the jagged blade.


	2. Chapter 2

 

 **Song for this chapter:** _Red Hands_ by The Dear Hunter

 

**ADAM ★**

Adam gently traced his fingers along the harsh line of Ronan's jaw, his heart hammering away within the cavity of his chest. His gaze drifted over the strong lines that made up the other boy's features, as familiar wanting filled his thoughts. Ronan shot up like a bullet, his hand darting forward to fist into the material of Adam's t-shirt. Adam flailed backwards in shock; embarrassment filling him to the core, as colour erupted across the slopes of his cheekbones, "Jesus."

They stared at each other. Ronan breathing hard, and Adam struggling to convince his heartbeat to cooperate. A fragile, tender moment built itself like clockwork around them. A tiny, measurable moment of wanting that settled between the two boys; a bird with clipped wings struggling to fly. And then Ronan released him, and the moment shriveled, and withered away like the scattered remains of mistimed promises whispered long ago.

"Parrish," Ronan greeted in his slow, easy drawl. "Gansey was looking for you. I told him you were out back, waxing your lady bits."

Adam glanced around the warehouse. It seemed so incredibly large, and vacant without the rest of the gang there to fill up corners, and make a mess of things. It didn't feel like home, if Gansey wasn't there poring over his maps, and making wildly excited gestures whenever he stumbled across new bits of information about the ley line. It didn't feel like home, if Noah wasn't there making random comments, or singing the squash song with Ronan, or haunting the warehouse with his silently overwhelming presence. It didn't feel like home, if Blue wasn't there to poke fun at them all, while she lay curled up on the couch; tea in hand. A bitter, venomous voice in the back of his mind dutifully reminded him that Monmouth didn't feel like home because it wasn't. Adam didn't belong here, and nor would he ever. He was a speck of a dust on a mantle that called for treasures. _Help was not for the becoming. It belonged with the elite._

"Ronan," Adam whispered into the gloom; voice straining as he nearly swallowed his tongue trying to utter the other boy's name. "I'm tired," he confessed, his tone sagging under the weightless guilt of all those that had come before him. Chainsaw let out a squawk, and Adam turned his gaze towards her. He watched as the ebony colored bird tore apart loose sheets of paper under Gansey's desk. "I-" his voice cracked, and he paused, swallowed, and tried again. "I was laid off today. My factory job...they downsized, and I was one of the workers that they cut." He didn't say what didn't need to be said. Didn't say that, he needed all three of his jobs in order to pay for rent and school. He brought his hands up to cover the naked expression of desperation on his face, and breathed out harshly between the spaces between his fingers.

If it had been Gansey, he would have already jumped in with a dozen reassurances, and would have said, ' _Don't worry, Adam. We can figure this out. You can stay here until you get another job_.' But it would have been painfully obvious to the both of them that Gansey would have been trying to hide the lack of sympathy from his voice. Gansey wanted nothing more than for Adam to live here at Monmouth with the rest of them. All of his little toys packed away under one roof. Adam let his hands fall away from his face, and found that Ronan was watching him. Heat guttered a path within his veins, and heaviness settled in his heart.

Ronan tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, his gaze filled with something indescribable that sent Adam's heart into overdrive.

 _"What do you want, Adam?"_ Gansey had asked earnestly _. I want-_

"Lost your job," Ronan mused at last, his tone rigid and unyielding. "There goes that employee discount on those sequined bras you've always wanted."                                        

And in that wavering moment, Adam loved Ronan Lynch more than he'd ever had. He hadn't come here looking for pity, he'd came in hopes of a distraction. "Buzz off," he said, as a rogue smile stretched across his face. He tucked his face into his shoulder, to ward away Ronan's prying eyes. He was only just beginning to learn how to smile again. For most of his life, he'd been the ruler of a tattered, frayed kingdom; commanding a dark realm set in a state of decay. Slowly but surely he had begun to dismantle the lonely barriers set up by his shattered kingdom, but it was a painfully ugly process.                                                                                                                                                    

Something sharp pricked his arm, drawing his attention to the serrated dagger currently being prodded gently into his skin. Adam marveled at the beauty of the wicked death instrument. It was clearly a dream object, for it was entirely transparent and the blade was accented with intricate designs.

"Take it," Ronan said as he braced a hand against the polished wood floor, and got to his feet.

Adam carefully picked up the weapon, and levered it in the cup of his palm, testing the weight. "Why?" he breathed in genuine awe over the winding patterns circling the blade. The dagger was undoubtedly beautiful, like all dangerous things often were.

"Castration," Ronan replied; lethal smirk toying with the contours of his lips. "Let's go."

"Where?" Adam questioned as he scrambled to his feet, and wrapped the dagger in his discarded sweatshirt.

Ronan was an illogical beast; stark ferocity painting a flimsy cover over his features. "First we're gonna explore your mom's anus. Then we're going off the edge of the world."

\---

**RONAN ☠**

The diner was at once homely and shabby. Bright, illuminative industrial lights brightened the capacity of the room. The floors were freshly washed, for they bore the distinctive glossy quality associated with clean floors. The wet floor sign was also a giveaway. The booths were red and white and battered due to years and years of extensive use. Springs and fluff poked up through the seats. An elderly man sat hunched over in one of the far booths, his head buried in his menu as if it held the secrets to an early retirement. Ronan thought he probably smelled like old houses, and cat urine. 

A waitress, whose nametag labelled her a 'Catherine', informed a bedraggled couple of the late night special. The air pulsed with vibrant, delectable scents of syrup, and coffee, cinnamon buns, and pie. Ronan glanced up from his menu and let his irises rove over Adam's face. Watching Adam had slowly evolved from curiosity to outright obsession. He was a piece of art; battered from misuse, but there was so much wonder and beauty to be found in the uneven strands of his hair, of the way his lashes were highlighted under the bright glare of the lights, of the way his teeth caught at his lower lip as he studied the menu. Ronan had always been a fan of art.

_Ghost fingers trailed over his jaw. Adam's breath fanning across his neck._

"Speak not with your tongue, but with your eyes. Your tongue is a traitor," he said to break the silence; mouth curling as the words dissolved over his tongue.

"What?" Adam asked distractedly, tearing his eyes away from the menu long enough to train a quizzical glance on Ronan.

"Gansey said it the other day. I thought it sounded prestigious as fuck." Adam laughed, a light, easy sound that lit up his whole face, and spoke of happier, easier times. A time when he could hear perfectly fine out of both ears, a time before he'd surrendered his will, a time before he'd become Cabeswater's eyes. _If Adam was Cabeswater's eyes, Ronan was the raven that had been bred to pick them out_. Either way, Adam's laugh made him glow. It made the pale, bruised imprint of sleepless nights under his eyes easier to look at.

 _Slippery slope._ His heart stuttered in his chest.

Abandoning the menu, Ronan flicked his gaze up to survey the occupants of the diner. The old man stared at him with an expression of acute horror; the whites of his eyes a familiar friend. The folds of his face looked alive, his lips moving in a tireless crusade of indiscernible litanies. 

_Beat._

_Beat._

_Beat._

Ronan stared.

_Beat._

_Beat._

_Beat._

The old man stood.

_Beat._

_Beat._

_Beat._

Adam took a breath.

_Beat._

_Beat._

_Beat._

Ronan did not.

_Beat._

_Beat._

_Beat._

The old man walked out.

_Beat._

_Beat._

_Beat._

Ronan walked out. 

_"...Ronan? Where are you-"_

The door swung shut behind him. 

\---

The old man wheezed into a crumpled, shredded tissue; his body wracking with the force of his coughs. He splayed a hand against the side of the building, in an effort to steady his aged form. Ronan crossed his arms over his chest and waited. He'd been wrong about the man smelling like cat piss; he smelled worse. The man brought shaking hands to his mouth in order to wipe away a dribble of saliva. The torn tissue was returned to the haven of his pocket. 

"That boy you're with," the man croaked as tremors played melodies across the length of his fingers. "I can smell Cabeswater on him. Not safe...not safe..." he muttered.

Ronan's skin crawled with the beginnings of something infinitely terrible. "What the fuck are you," he bit out through gritted teeth. A question as much as it was not.

Breath rattling in his throat, the man lurched forward as if he intended on seizing hold of something only he could see. "Not safe," he muttered again. "You boys stay away from there. They'll take everything. They'll take-" he broke off gasping as his hand flew to his face.

 _Blink._ Half the man's face went missing.

 _Blink_. He was whole. 

Something crawled up Ronan's throat to seek residence in his mouth. He thought maybe it was his heart. 

"That boy...that boy!" The old man cried out; the strength of his violent shaking sending him to his knees. "How do you know he is still himself? How do you know he hasn't been taken already?!" His fear inducing inquiry ended in sobs of terror as he curled up on the asphalt like a marionette puppet who's strings had been cut. 

Ronan backed away from the shriveled human form, and turned to push his way back into the diner; breath hitching in his throat. 

Simmer. Hurt.

Hurt. Simmer.

Adam glanced up at his approach; his hands self consciously picking at the frayed cuffs of his sweater.

 

_What the fuck are we running from, Parrish?_

_You_

 

"I bet," Adam said, as Ronan slid back into the booth. "That I can eat more pancakes than you."

A vicious smile tweaked the corners of Ronan's mouth. He didn't feel like smiling. He smiled wider; planting his hands on the table, and leaning forward. "Pancakes the size of your mother's tits?"

Adam looked at him, completely unimpressed. "Are you doubting me?" he asked; gaze flicking down to Ronan's lips.

_Oh._

They were playing a dangerous game. "You willing to bet your prized panties on that, Parrish?"

"If I win, you have to profess your love to Noah," Adam shot back; eyes dancing.

Ronan raised an eyebrow in quiet calculation. "When I win..."

\---

**ADAM ★**

Adam clutched uselessly at the dash as the car screeched around yet another tight corner; headlights splaying ghostly streaks of light across the puddles coating the road. "Ronan! Slow down!" he demanded, as they were thrown around a tiny bend in the road, and the BMW groaned in protest. Beside him, Ronan tipped his head back and let out a wild round of maniacal laughter. Adam's gaze strayed towards the line of the other male's throat; the white glint of his teeth, the pronounced line of his jaw. His heart hammered within his chest.

 _"What do you want, Adam?"_ Gansey had asked earnestly _. I want-_

"Jesus! Ronan! Eyes on the road!" he yelled, as he slammed a hand against the dash in an effort to stabilize himself, as the car took another precarious turn. Ronan directed the illustrious vehicle towards a street, that branched off into the main road; shoulders shaking with laughter all the while. The BMW squealed to a stop underneath a looming red light, and Adam finally managed to regulate his breathing by focusing on inhaling heavily, and then exhaling all the enclosed air within his lungs. He didn't recognize this Ronan. A sated beast, who was ablaze with the exhilarating thrill of street racing; so carefree that even the inky black depths of the endless night sky couldn't reduce him to a handful of dust in the wind. Adam's head snapped up at the sound of the window being rolled down. Bewilderment stained his features, until he noticed the other vehicle that had pulled up alongside theirs. Dread stitched its way along his insides, and intertwined with his muddled organs. He knew what this meant. What it always meant. How street racing was bred into Ronan's veins, the very way fear was bred into his. 

"Ronan. No." He dug his nails into his palm; struggling to ignore the insults being thrown at them from the adjacent car.

A stocky, blond boy with a buzzcut leaned half his frame out the window. "Ay, Lynch! Never knew you and trailer trash here were a thing. Is he sucking your cock or something?" Adam focused on the tiny crescent imprints his nails had left behind in the softness of his skin; harsh, angry, hurtful.

Another voice joined the fray, loose and sloppy. "How much do I have to pay to get him to suck mine? A couple of cents should cover his rent, right? I heard he'll take it up the ass for a dollar!" Adam's ears were burning; shame crawled across the slopes of his face, and down the nape of his neck.

 "Adam." 

Adam jerked his gaze up, fixating it on Ronan's oddly controlled expression. To the unaware eye, Ronan Lynch the picture of restraint, and carelessness, yet there was a tiny muscle jumping near the curve of his jaw that suggested barely harnessed anger. 

Adam thought maybe he was looking for permission, but that wasn't something a Lynch brother would ask for. Still. " _Yes_. Let's race."

Ronan grinned at him; a fleeting, purely raw smile that warmed the decaying substance in Adam's chest. Above them, the light turned green, and both cars sprang to life. Adam could do little more than hang on for dear life, as both cars surged neck on neck down the street. The wind roared in through the windows, and whipped through their hair; accompanied by the screech of tires. Adam watched Ronan handle the clutch, and drop gears like he'd been born and raised inside a drag race; inside the very beast itself. The silver car gradually fell behind, but Ronan didn't break their rhythm. His control over the steering wheel was effortless; cutting tight corners, and bridging gaps, and potholes like they'd personally offended him somehow.  Adam found his voice, "Off the edge of the world."

The BMW flew down a winding street, before finally coming to a halt; gears shifting as Ronan ordered the man-made contraption to obey his orders. "We smoked them," he stated, satisfaction ringing through his tone. He brushed his knuckles against the ridges of the steering wheel, and Adam's gaze shuttered as he watched him do so. Ronan reached for the dash, and with a quick flick of his fingers, a familiar droning sound filled the interior of the car. 

" **Squash one, squash two...** " 

Adam lunged for the console; frenzied horror underlying his actions. Ronan grabbed his wrist. "Turn that shit off, Lynch," Adam wheezed, trying and failing to get past the broader male's defences.  "Squash three, squash four," Ronan mouthed against his ear. Adam's vocalization of his exasperation died in his throat when he realized how close they were; their bodies making one long point of contact.  "Squash five, squash six," Ronan whispered against his pulse. 

Adam went still. 

"Squash seven, squash eight," Ronan murmured along the curve of his jaw. Adam tilted his face towards him; seeking. "Squash nine, squash ten," Ronan gasped soundlessly, before his lips settled over his own. Adam made a desperate, keening sound in the back of his throat, while his hand snaked towards the nape of Ronan's neck. He curled his fingers ever so slightly, allowing his nails to scrape across the other male's skin. The kiss was absolutely filthy, and raw; the slide of their mouths heavy and desperate. Goosebumps built houses on Adam's skin, as Ronan's fingertips rubbed consistent circles on his back; t-shirt rucked up, chilly night air lending to his throbbing heart. Adam twisted his other hand into Ronan's t-shirt, and heaved him closer, trying his hardest to eliminate any possible space between them; slotting their bodies together until they merged into one being. Ronan growled into his mouth, and Adam let out a breathless whine; allowing Ronan's tongue access to explore his insides. 

_ Hot. Hot. Trembling. Breathe. Touch. Touch. Touch. _

A deranged, blood-curling shriek seemed to explode around them, Adam dimly registered Ronan's mouth leaving his, and then something crashed into their car so hard, and with such momentum, that he felt the vibrations echoing in his bones. The car spun wildly on the narrow street, knocking over trash cans, and damaging the exterior of a nearby building as metal screeched, and warped around them. Pain and agony stretched along his limbs, and pounded into his temples, before he was swallowed whole; the darkness eating him alive. 

He became debris and wreckage under a colorless sky.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me of the past lied. Once a week updates isn't a thing that happened.  
> Obviously.  
> I blame video games.

**Song for this chapter:** _Closer_ by Kings of Leon

 

**RONAN ☠**

  
_Blood_

_Red fingertips_

_Stained absolution_

_War paint_

_Colour of death_

They were the words of a deformed piece of a poem long since aged to time; crumbling around the edges, yellowing.  
He could feel his heart bending within the inner void of his chest, as if bracing for impact. His veins vibrated and flourished, branching off into varying degrees of pain that wormed its way through the channels of his body.  
_Breathe._  
How did one breathe when their vocal chords had been set on fire, and then constricted? Ronan blearily forced his eyes open, and shook his head to try and clear the pounding going on in his skull. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes in an effort to diminish the spots of black that had begun to cloud his vision.  
_Adam._  
Ronan lowered his hands, and turned carefully in his seat, careful not to disturb the sunken metal around them. His heart stopped. Adam lay completely and utterly still; a mere husk of his former being.

_Kavinsky made a gun of his thumb and finger and put it to Ronan’s temple._

_"Bang,” he said softly._

No. Please, God. Not him too. Not in this car. Not now.  
"Parrish," Ronan hissed. Adam's surname evaporated in the distilled air, a hollow remnant of what had once been. A mask of red was splayed over the knob of Adam's cheekbones. Red tainted ink. His blood. Ronan's chest ached with each shaky breath, but nonetheless he leaned across the seat, and carefully took the other boy's face into his hands.  
Ronan could be so, _so_  still.  
He slid his thumb over the elegant line of Adam's neck, and pushed it into his pulse.

_Kavinsky says, "The world's a nightmare"._

 

Adam's head lolled back.

 

Nightmare.

 

\---

 

**ADAM ★**

  
Fluorescent lights seeped in through his eyelids, and greeted him when he opened his eyes. The agonizingly bright hospital lighting was nearly blinding in its intensity. "Welcome back to the land of the living," Blue said, reaching for his hand as she pasted a falsely brave smile on her face. Adam let his eyes drift half-shut in an effort to diffuse the throbbing sensation at the back of his skull. He felt devoid of life, as if his vessel had rendered his limbs useless; phantom beings that held mock authority over his actions. 

As numb as the world he'd been born into.

His hand caught at hers; fingers interweaving. His breathing gradually reverted to its usual pace, and pattern. It wasn’t until he had begun tracing small semi-circles over the press of skin near her thumb, did he notice something rough prickling at the pads of his fingertips. He lifted their hands, and turned them to and fro to examine the assortment of bandages wrapped around her fingers.

“You’re hurt,” he murmured hoarsely; tone one of odd disbelief.

Blue smiled dimly, and shook her head. "It's nothing. Just glass. Calla and I were clearing out the shed-" she broke off, and her tone warped; anxiety trickling in. "You're the one that's hurt, shithead."

Adam tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. "Not irreparably," he whispered, trying to align his head with his heart.

"No," Blue agreed reluctantly, as she withdrew her hand. "Never that." Her gaze darted to his deaf ear.

Adam pretended not to notice. He took a breath, and his lungs protested the movement. _Careful_. "You don't have a shed," he pointed out; tone a wispy remnant.

Blue smoothed out a wrinkle on the bedsheet; her fingers flitting along the crease like nimble soldiers. "No," she agreed, before getting to her feet in one, fluid motion. Her fingers found the haven of his hand once more. Their fingers slotted together like forged canyons of interminable bone. He stared at the valleys that danced along the distorted bridges of their fingers, and wondered idly why he had ever thought he'd stood a chance with her.

"H-" he paused. Swallowed. Tried again. "How bad?" His gaze flicked down to travel over the lump that was his body; hidden under the staunch hospital blanket.

Blue gently withdrew her hand.

The canyons fell.

"Not too bad...considering. Two cracked ribs, and a concussion. The glass kind of attacked your face."

Adam gingerly prodded at the curve of his jaw; pain hissed its presence, forcing his fingers to make a hasty retreat.

"I'll send Gansey in," Blue announced suddenly as she headed to the door.

 _Gansey was here?_ Adam's hand flew back to the stark angle of his jaw. His fingers rested on a landscape of wary agony. He pushed against the landscape, until agony blossomed into something unnameable. 

Gansey was here.

Blue lingered in the entryway, and turned to look back at him; an unidentifiable expression shattering her calm demeanor. Whatever the expression was, whatever she was trying to say, Adam couldn't quite put his finger on it. He thought about asking her, thought about demanding, but his tongue was not in the habit of asking favors.

Blue told him anyway. "Once, there was a boy who loved so fiercely, that eventually he forgot where love came from. He forgot that love wasn't supposed to be angry. It was supposed to be kind," she murmured; tone feather light, and endlessly fragile. 

Adam could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

Blue slipped away, and a moment later Gansey strolled in.

"Adam," he greeted in that serene, soothing way of his. 

Adam's gaze roved over his features, picking apart his craftily constructed expression. Sometimes he forgot how quietly authoritative Gansey could be, and he didn't like being reminded. This wasn't the Gansey that plowed through fields, and ventured in caves in search of Glendower. This was a Gansey fabricated entirely of polite smiles, and ' _You look lovely, Mrs. Johnson. Have you tried the wine_?' He didn't want this Gansey. He wanted to tell him to leave, to send in the Gansey that reminded him of everything faithful in this world. But then Gansey sat down, and the falsified veil fell off; peeling away like a second skin. Now Adam could see weariness curled around the set of his jaw, and the ache smeared in tiny clusters over his dull smile. Gansey's expression was open, and quizzical; he could almost see the workings of an inquiry etched into the depths of his pupils.

Time hung suspended in limbo. 

Gansey looked out of place in the room set against a backdrop of a weathered bed, and sickly green walls. 

Did the rich stay in hospitals with walls the color of puke?

Adam was reminded suddenly of the young fawn his father had caught in one of his traps; milky brown eyes a sated brilliant wonder in a world that was so full of decay. He remembered watching her little legs kick out as she fought for life, her chest heaving in a effort to contain her soul within that tiny, fragile frame.

He took a breath.

Took another.

Let the third dissolve on his tongue.

  
"What were you doing in that car, Adam?" Gansey asked at last; quiet but firm in a way that only he could be. 

Adam knotted his fingers into his blanket, allowing the slide of fabric against his palms to anchor him. "I was looking."  
_For_? The question settled between them, left unsaid, but there nonetheless. He could see it in the way Gansey tried to catch his eye, could hear it in the faint drumming of Gansey's fingers on the bedside table; staccato beat replacing the rattling of his half choked breaths.  
The words caught in his throat. "For what I want," Adam replied, gripping the sheets until his words became pale imprints of subdued emotion.

They both knew what that meant.

Both knew how wanting seemed inseparable from a buzzed head and glinting white teeth set into a void of _snarl_.

Gansey made a quiet noise of objection somewhere in the base of his throat. "Not without a seatbelt, I hope?"

The previous tension disintegrated and shriveled away like fragments of a forgotten conversation; left over words dissolving on Adam's tongue like there was nothing else that could be said in this moment other than one thing.  
"Thank you."

They smiled at each other, a treasured, tentative occurrence, that made something cramped and rigid unknot in Adam's chest. It had been hard in that first year, after Adam had sacrificed his will to Cabeswater. He and Gansey had danced around each other for months afterwards, unwilling to invoke confrontation.  
"There's something else you should know," Gansey muttered hesitantly, picking invisible lint off the hem of his obnoxiously bright yellow polo shirt. He scratched absently at the back of his neck, not quite making eye contact. "Ronan got a look at the driver of the car before it hit you..." he trailed off, looking helplessly perplexed.

Adam could feel his brow furrowing in confusion. "It was Trent, and Danny, wasn't it? The ones racing us."

Gansey shook his head slowly, the motion nearly mechanical in its detachment from the waking world.

Adam could hear the disbelief and concern threaded within his vowels. "It wasn't?! Who was driving then?"

"You."

Adam remembered his father knocking him down the stairs.

The dull ringing in his ear.

Ronan's fist crushing a network of splintered bone.

His mother's face.

But mostly he remembered the time  _before_. The time before Gansey. Before the stars. Before Earth. Before humanity. 

He remembered not remembering anything at all.

 

And

 

 

Adam realized suddenly what Blue had been trying to tell him earlier.

 

_Pretend._

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave a comment. I won't bite. Maybe. I'm only three quarters of an asshole. Maybe.  
> My tumblr is: http://may-time-stand-still.tumblr.com/  
> I'd love some prompts for other ships.


End file.
